Acorn Village woke early. There was no midday meal here—only food at dawn and again at dusk. As the light strengthened, Erika brought Leon and Isabella to the fields beyond the houses. Isabella joined her mother in pulling weeds from between the young wheat, while Leon sat on the raised earth of the field's edge, silent as ever.
The land stretched outward in shades of green, hemmed in by forest and distant hills. Life here was simple, measured by seasons and weather, by the success of traps and the mercy of soil.
A wind rose without warning.
Dry grass and fallen leaves lifted from the ground, spiraling briefly before scattering. Far beyond the fields, dark clouds gathered over the mountains with unsettling speed. Leon drew his thin coat tighter, a chill crawling up his spine.
Then the sky broke.
The thunder cracked so violently it seemed to split the air itself.
Leon startled, lost his balance, and tumbled from the ridge into the wheat, crushing a small patch beneath him. Isabella gasped. Erika froze, eyes already searching for her son.
Thunder was rare this early in the year. Thunder like this was unheard of.
Leon sat up, heart racing, breath shallow. The sound echoed again in his bones, stirring something that had long been locked away.
Words rose before he could stop them.
"Storm," he said, voice rough but clear. "The sky's angry."
Erika stopped running.
For a heartbeat, she stood utterly still.
Then she rushed to him, dropping to her knees in the dirt, hands trembling as they grasped his shoulders. Her eyes searched his face, desperate, unbelieving.
"Leon?" she whispered.
He looked up at her—really looked—and forced the sound out again.
"Mother."
The word was small. Fragile.
It shattered her.
Erika pulled him into her arms, sobbing openly now, clutching him as if the world itself might try to steal him away again. Tears soaked his hair and collar, but she did not let go.
"I knew," she cried. "I knew you would wake. I knew it."
Isabella ran toward them, breathless, fear giving way to dawning joy.
"He spoke?" she asked, eyes wide. "Mama—did he speak?"
Leon turned his head toward her and said, softly, carefully, "Sister."
Isabella laughed and cried at once, throwing her arms around them both.
Above the fields, the clouds slowly broke apart, the thunder retreating into distant hills.
And for the first time since coming to this world, Leon understood something with certainty:
Whatever path lay ahead, it had begun here—not with magic, not with power, but with a single word spoken aloud.